


The Darkness Within

by thevalesofanduin



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, with Leia and Rose as minor characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13869105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: Only in the darkness can you see the stars ― Martin Luther King Jr.Or: the one where Poe struggles with the aftermath of the decisions he’s made and the lives that were lost





	The Darkness Within

**Author's Note:**

> First off, let’s pretend there is a bit more of the Resistance left than the 20-something people that actually survived after TLJ and let’s also pretend they found themselves a new base somewhere.
> 
> Secondly, while I feel I had to write this fic because the next movie surely isn’t going to focus on the mental impact of anything that happened I also do realize it is not a happy fic. It has a hopeful ending, yes, but in reality it is 5.4K words of mental struggle to get there. Just so you’ve been warned…

Victory.

It’s faint, thin, lined with loss and yet the evacuation of half the base still counts as a victory.

There are happy cries all around, BB―8 beeping excitedly from the back of the X―wing and a lightness falls over Poe, a relief washing through him and settling in his chest, making him feel as if he can breathe again.

But it doesn’t last long.

For when he raises his eyes and they fall on the Dreadnought he is filled with despair again. Despair, anger and _fear_.

These things can destroy planets, he finds himself thinking as his fingers tighten around his yoke. So much death and destruction all because of this one ship. This one weapon.

An anger seems to boil in the back of his mind the longer his eyes rest on the Dreadnought. A dark anger that spreads its insistent black wisps through Poe until it’s all but consumed him.

_Destroy it_

The voice that seems to echo through his mind isn’t his. The gritty murmur vaguely familiar but not _his_.

_This is your only chance,_ the voice argues when general Organa ― _Leia_ ― tells them to call the fighters back and retreat now that the canons are destroyed. _When will you ever have the chance to destroy one of these things again?_

He should have a bad feeling about this. A hesitation in the back of his mind, a reluctance in his words and actions because he’s hearing things no―one else is.

Not the other fighters, not the general, not BB―8.

Just him in his cockpit and a voice in his head.

A voice which the dark curl of anger in the pit of Poe’s stomach says is _right_.

But Leia does not agree. Demands and orders for him to retreat and no matter his arguments her opinion does not sway.

_It is a coward move to retreat,_ the voice taunts Leia’s decision and before Poe can form a thought of his own, let alone argue, it continues: _cowards don’t win wars. Think of all the people this Dreadnought will kill in the future. Destroy it now and you will save all of their lives._

Poe narrows his eyes at the Dreadnought, his mind made up and his hand reaching out for the communicator.

“Commander!” Leia’s voice is stern, angry and it shakes slightly around the edges ― almost as if she’s scared. “ _Poe ―_ ”

_Coward_

The word seems to echo through his cockpit as it overtakes his mind, sweeps through him and it drowns out all other noise.

He raises his eyes to the Dreadnought, cold as steel.

He closes down communication and orders for the Bombers to attack.

And as the last bomber falls, explodes and takes the Dreadnought down with its own destruction, Poe cries out in triumph.

_Yes!_ The voice roars in the back of his mind, deep and rumbling and satisfied.

Poe laughs along with the cry, victory coursing through his veins and pride in his heart because he did this. _He did this_.

_Yes,_ the voice laughs but instead of joyful and relieved it is dark and sinister. _This is what it feels like when you let darkness take over your mind._

Darkness? Poe thinks and frowns, thinking that as the Dreadnought explodes he can only see a blinding, all―consuming white light.

Feel the adrenaline run rampant through his body as his happy laughs echo through the cockpit.

_Yes,_ the voice laughs along with Poe. _Feel the darkness._

_Embrace it._

Poe closes his eyes right as the voice chants _become it_ and for a while, there is only darkness.

Darkness which seems to roll and roar within him, like a wild sea crashing and thundering against the shore. It fills his mind, courses through him like a violent waterfall and it’s almost like a vice around his neck growing tighter and tighter and _tighter_ until his throat is raw and his lungs empty.

His eyes fly open, panicked and watery and so dark but so fearful, _haunted_ and a raspy, dry gasp falls from his lips as he tries to draw air into his lungs.

And as his eyes focus he sees he’s not in his cockpit anymore.

Is instead standing on a U―55 Orbital Loadlifter, surrounded by the remains of the resistance and Amilyn Holdo’s terse, accusing face on a screen in front of him.

Looking at her, his limbs feel weak, his hands shake and the dark tendrils in his mind curl around the guilt that flares up.

“She was a great woman and she meets an unfair end,” a familiar steady voice rings through the air from right next to Poe. “Sacrificing herself for all the lives _you_ endangered.”

He turns his head slowly, almost scared to look, and it’s like all air is drawn from his lungs again as he sees Leia’s cold, disappointed visage.

She raises one of her hands, placing it against his shoulder but there is no comfort in the touch. No comfort either in her lips, turned down in an anger that boils underneath the surface and eyes that flash with acquisition. “Don’t look at me,” she says, tone sharp as a knife and cold as ice.

As if by force, Poe’s head is turned, his eyes drawn to the screen that hangs in front of him. The screen which shows Holdo, looking straight at him.

“You are nothing more than a trigger―happy, impulsive, dangerous flyboy,” she taunts, tilting her chin and sneering in disgust.

Meanwhile the nickname _breaks_ Poe’s heart, mind flashing back to a long time ago when he was five and his mom kissed his cheek as he sat on her lap as she taught him how to fly.

_My little flyboy_.

“This one is on you,” Holdo continues and on the screen, as she speaks her face changes. Morphs and transforms until her skin is darker, her hair is brown and curly and her voice is softer, higher, _painfully familiar_.

Poe’s knees buckle and his stomach churns, bile rising in his throat and all he can think is _no, no, no!_

For looking straight at him, with acquisition and disappointment in familiar eyes, is his mother.

“This one is on you, flyboy.”

Poe’s heart seems to stop in his chest for a moment, a whispered “no” falling from his lips.

“Isn’t it beautiful? This darkness?” his mother asks and her voice seems to be echoed by another one.

A darker one.

The one from before.

“No,” he mumbles again, his voice tight and throat constricted like something is lodged there, in his throat and chest and he can’t talk ― can barely _breathe_ ― as panic and devastation curl and mingle with the darkness in his veins.

“This power?” his mother pushes, a dark and knowing smirk on her lips.

Around Poe, more and more screens flicker on and his mother seems to be looking at him from every single one of them. Her voice booming through the room as her words repeat themselves over and over again.

“Embrace the darkness, son.”

There’s tears in Poe’s eyes, down his cheeks and his breath shakes as much as his body does, chest heaving with sobs as Leia’s hand on his shoulder feels like punishment and his mother’s accusing words fill the space around him.

The air, his ears, his mind.

And as his mother activates the jump to lightspeed, all Poe can do is scream. Fall to his knees and cry and scream an agonizing, haunted hoarse sound that echoes off the walls of the U―55.

_This one is on you_

 

―――

 

The small room is dark.

The only light a thin, watery yellow shimmer from the hallway that has found tiny gaps underneath and around the door. It creeps over the concrete floor but barely reaches the edge of the bed, let alone the tormented man sleeping in it.

For twisting and turning and writhing in distress with soft gasps and broken cries passing his lips, Poe Dameron is most definitely tormented by his dreams.

His nightmares.

“No,”

The single word, the two letters broken, a gasping sob.

It’s followed by a hoarse, tormented cry as Poe’s whole body convulses and he shoots up with his hands gripping his bedsheets, his chest heaving and tears burning in eyes that stare unseeingly into the darkness of his room.

For a few moments, no sound other than Poe’s raw gasps hang in the air as he tries to fill his lungs with air ― _breathe_ ― and tries to stop his body from shaking.

If only he can control his body, to balance out the complete inability to control his mind.

But he can not.

Not when it feels like darkness still curls in his veins and his throat feels raw from screaming and all he feels is drowning, suffocating _guilt_.

Automatically, he reaches out for the ring hanging from a thin, silver chain around his neck. But as his trembling fingers curl around it, flashes of his nightmare come back.

_This one is on you_

His mother’s voice seems to echo off the walls of his small rooms, despite him _knowing_ it’s all in his head.

That knowledge, however, doesn’t stop a sob from passing his lips.

And another.

And another.

And as the floodgates open and Poe sits crying on his bed with heart―wrenching sobs that break both body and soul, he holds his mother’s wedding ring in trembling, clenched hands against his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words cracking and his voice hitching. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

No reassurance comes.

Not from the hallway with its bright light nor from his mind, which at that moment feels as desolate and dark as the small room does.

 

―――

 

For the first time, Poe finds himself looking at an X―wing and _doesn’t_ feel proud.

He feels many things, but pride is not among the guilt and regret.

Where before he would feel almost victorious at the scratches on a fighter, now he feels the opposite. Thinks of all those that have perished, all the lives he was responsible for and all those lives that are now gone ― taken, sacrificed ― because of _his_ decisions.

“You okay?”

Poe looks up ― hadn’t realized he’d clenched his hands into fists ― to find Rose looking at him with a small frown.

“I’m fine,” he says and tries a smile.

He fails.

Hopeful words, jokes, joy, they all fail to come easy to him nowadays.

Whereas before he could always make a mood lighter, could find it within himself to motivate both himself and others with kind and cheerful words, now he feels he darkens the mood. Can’t find the right words, the happy words to say so he just says nothing at all.

He should’ve known it was only a matter of time before people would start to worry.

Rose raises an eyebrow. “You don’t look fine.”

“We’re still at war,” he shrugs, the excuse ― the _lie_ ― falling from his lips easily. He’s said it before in the past weeks and he’ll say it again.

Make people ― his friends ― feel more at ease, take away their worries.

Pretend he isn’t losing his mind.

He waves a hand at the X―wing, hopes to change the topic as he starts: “we barely have anything left, plus ―”

“Walk with me,” Rose interrupts, her shoulders tense.

Poe blinks. “What?”

But Rose has already taken his arm and is soldiering them through the hanger in a way that only Rose can.

With certain steps and purpose in her eyes.

It would amuse Poe, if he wasn’t so worried about what she has to say.

Because lately, Poe has avoided Rose.

Rose, who laughs but not as heartfelt as before. Rose, who reaches out to touch the necklace around her neck when she thinks no―one is watching. Rose, who now has an empty space at her side which serves as a constant reminder to Poe.

_This one is on you_

Poe doesn’t realize he’s fallen into subdued silence until Rose stops walking and turns to him in a shadowed corner.

“Now you listen. You might pretend to be fine, but the Poe I know would never have said we barely have anything left,” she says, her eyes searching his and there is both worry and disappointment in them. “Where is your hope? Your optimism? I thought we were a spark,” she insists, her hands fists at her sides.

For a moment, Poe feels like he’s going to crack. Snap that his hope, his optimism are gone, have gone up in the smoke of the explosion his _spark_ caused.

Instead, he just takes a small step back, drawing further into the shadows.

“We can’t give up just because there is just a few of us.” Rose takes a deep breath that shudders just around the edges and her lips set in a thin line for a moment, her fingers reaching up to touch her necklace. Then, her voice softer and shakier than Poe has ever heard, she says: “it’s not what all the others have sacrificed themselves for.”

Poe’s eyes widen slightly at those words which feel like a stab wound to his heart. “No,” he utters softly and shakes his head. “They didn’t sacrifice themselves for nothing,” he says although he isn’t sure if he’s speaking to Rose or himself. For the words repeat themselves in his mind and he holds onto them, tightly clings to them and maybe if he does so hard enough he might believe them.

A sense of relief washes over Rose’s face at his words and she relaxes some. “We’re all just worried, you’ve gotten silent and broody and…” she trails off, her gaze dropping to the ground.

“And?” Poe asks, although he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer.

Rose hesitates, eyes darting around for a moment before she sighs and admits: “it’s Finn. His room is right next to yours and he… _hears_.”

Poe sucks in a breath, feeling both worried and guilty. Because he hadn’t thought of anyone hearing. Hadn’t realized he’d be worrying his friend. “I should talk to him,” he mumbles as he lowers his eyes.

“You don’t have to,” Rose shakes her head. “He won’t come to you to talk about it. Says he knows about nightmares and all of that stuff which… he _does._ But he worries and I felt like you should know that.”

The small, almost soft smile Rose gives him does absolutely _nothing_ to comfort Poe.

“Thanks,” he says and doesn’t have a clue how he sounds. How he gets the words out. “Thanks for telling me,” the words fall from his lips automatically. “I didn’t realize.”

“Of course,” Rose answers, smile still on her lips. “We’ve all been a bit out of it I think, right?”

“Right,” Poe laughs, but there’s barely any humor behind it. His mind feels like a mess, his emotions all over the place.

“Also,” Rose’s voice is soft as she speaks, a mere whisper but loud enough for Poe to hear.

He blinks and has to take a breath, feeling raw and exposed and on edge.

Especially with how nervous Rose looks as she watches him.

Nervous, but resolute.

“I wanted to make sure you’re doing fine because… well, you’re commander Dameron. You make decisions for us, about our lives,” she gives Poe a small, weak smile. “And I’m just grateful you haven’t lost your spark, after all.”

Poe doesn’t have a reply.

Can’t find the words.

Lets her turn around and walk away with a lighter step than before.

She’ll tell Finn he’s fine, it’s just nightmares but other than that commander Dameron is fine.

Poe’s legs shake as somehow they manage to carry him to his room, thinking she couldn’t be more wrong.

 

―――

 

His nightmares continue, his mother’s words now echoed by Rose’s.

_You make decisions about our lives_

He wakes up in cold sweat every night, screams of “no” and whispered “please” and “sorry” falling from his lips while the voice of his nightmares haunts him.

Makes him question what he did. _Why_ he did what he did.

He works on the X―wing now assigned to him thinking of sneered words about a trigger―happy, impulsive and dangerous flyboy.

He sits in the cantina eating bland soup and thinks he can feel the weight of his peers eyes on him, judging and angry for _this one is on you_.

He sleeps with his lights on, because he can’t stand the dark anymore as the low, gritty voice is a constant torment, a constant murmur of _feel the darkness._

He looks at Rose and is constantly reminded of her words.

You are a commander. You make decisions for us.

He sits on his bed, stares at the wall and his body feels numb as he thinks that perhaps he shouldn’t be.

 

―――

 

He doesn’t mean to listen, to hear.

He knows a private moment when he sees one and Rey and Leia sitting on a bench, tucked away in an alcove and shadows hiding most of it from view is definitely a private moment.

But it’s a hallway, and he needs to be on the other side.

So he shoves his hands into his pockets and makes his way across with quick steps, his head down as he pretends he doesn’t see Leia’s tense shoulders and Rey’s face buried in her own hands.

“I didn’t know what to do with it,” Rey’s voice is soft, yet in the empty hallway it feels loud nonetheless, carrying confusion. Desperation. She huffs. “I still don’t.”

Poe swallows and hurries his steps even more because it’s obvious Rey doesn’t realize he’s here, at hearing―distance.

“It’s like he can see inside my head in those moments,” Rey continues.

Poe’s steps falter and his breath freezes in his lungs.

Who? Who can see inside your head? He thinks, harsh and desperate and his mind screams for an answer while his heart cowers away from hearing it.

Because it might lead to answers. To him understanding his nightmares, his _fears_.

But does he really want to?

When Rey speaks again, there is a tremble in her voice as it threatens to break on a sob. “And why him? Why? Anyone would’ve been better than _him_.”

By now, Poe’s feet have stopped moving. He almost can’t hear Rey’s voice anymore, he’s _that_ close to being out of range. He should push himself, push his body but his mind chants who, who, who over and over again and he _can’t_.

He _needs_ to know.

If only to find a twisted, delusional sense of comfort in the knowledge that he’s not the only one who feels like he’s going crazy, if only in his nightmares.

Yet it’s not Rey that gives him his answer.

It is, instead, Leia. Whose voice carries a sadness that feels like it belongs in the soft tremors, has found a home in them.

It probably has.

“Ben.”

The one word falls from her lips and seems to echo against the walls.

It makes Poe’s blood run cold. His stomach churn. His mind _cry_.

His eyes brim with tears as the wildfire that is knowledge spreads through him, sets him alight and leaves a trail of destructive, devastating ashes in its path.

_Feel the darkness_

He should’ve known.

He should have _known_.

“I’m sorry,” Rey whispers, and she’s speaking to Leia but she might as well be speaking to Poe.

He turns his head, slow and almost painful, to see Rey’s arm around Leia’s shoulder.

Leia, who is looking right at him. Understanding and sorrow in her gaze as she murmurs: “me too.”

 

―――

 

That night, Poe dreams of memories.

Of being held hostage, shackled to a chair.

Interrogated.

He dreams of being pried open, pulled apart inch by inch by a now painfully familiar gritty, haunting voice.

_I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board_

He wakes up, a scream on his lips and his mind made up.

 

―――

 

BB―8 is distressed.

He rolls from one side of the room to the other, beeping loudly and insistently.

“I know buddy,” Poe sighs as he stuffs one of his jackets in the bag on his bed. “I don’t want to go either,” he admits, leaves the words _but I have to_ unsaid despite them being right.

Guilt, he can deal with.

Regret he can overcome.

But a thought has been festering in his mind.

Like rust it has corroded his once strong walls. His faith, optimism and his _trust_ in himself already worn, tired and fragile after days, _weeks_ of nightmares. Ready to fall apart.

And now, after hovering on the edge for too long he has fallen. Has spread his arms and let himself fall into the abyss.

Give up.

For with the knowledge that it is Kylo Ren filling his mind, feeding his thoughts with darkness and danger, his friable, corroded walls have crumbled.

They have made place for a wasteland of fear, of insecurity and for the thought _what if he’s still with me, somehow?_

For how can he be certain that Kylo is only a figmentation of his nightmares? And, moreover, how can he be responsible for people’s lives like this?

He sighs, angry at mainly himself. His weakness.

He’s already made the wrong decision twice, he will not do so again.

A heavy weight colliding with his legs pulls him from his thoughts and he looks down at BB―8.

The little droid protests and argues and he sounds _upset_ and it breaks Poe’s heart.

But it doesn’t change his mind.

He squats down in front of the droid and puts a hand atop its head. He wonders if it brings BB―8 any form of comfort, because it surely doesn’t bring him any.

“Don’t you worry buddy, I’ll be fine,” he promises the droid with a small, tight smile. “I’ll be back,” he adds. _When I can trust myself again_.

BB―8, seemingly having given up arguing, beeps questioningly.

“Join me?” Poe laughs because BB―8 cares so much and he just knows that if he weren’t laughing he’d cry. “You can’t, they need you here.”

BB―8 lets out another string of beeps, confused.

“They don’t need me,” Poe sighs in reply and shakes his head. He gathers the droid in his arms and pulls it close to his chest, closing his eyes. “Not like this.”

 

―――

 

It’s the middle of the night when he slips away.

BB―8 is in his loading dock and the base is quiet as almost everyone sleeps.

He doesn’t spend time lingering in the hallways. This place isn’t D’Qar, it’s not filled with happy memories.

But when he steps outside and the door to the base closes behind him with a dull, soft thud leaving him in the dark underneath the night sky he thinks that D’Qar held more than memories.

It held the Resistance. His friends, who over the years have turned into his family.

Some of whom he’s already lost.

His heart aches and a wave of guilt washes over him. Makes him want to run, leave, _now_ ― because it’s better if he does.

Yet his feet are stalled by thoughts of all of those he’ll leave behind, if only temporary. Those he’ll miss. Jessika, Rose, Rey, Finn. Leia.

“Nice night, isn’t it?”

_Leia_

Poe’s breath freezes in his lungs for a moment, yet as he turns around slowly he finds himself thinking why he’s surprised that she’s here.

Because of course she is.

Not that he likes it, but as he sees Leia standing just in the shadow of the overhanging roof with an unreadable expression on her face he concludes he should’ve known.

“Who was it?” he asks, not feigning niceties or playing at ignorance. What’s the use in that, when it’s obvious Leia already knows what he’s up to. “Was it BB?”

He thinks of the droid in his loading dock and wonders if perhaps he hadn’t been on stand―by. Had been on the look―out instead in a last attempt to stop him from leaving.

Leia steps forward, out of the shadows and towards Poe and her eyes linger on the bag heaved over his shoulders for a moment. “I asked him to,” she explains and comes to a stop right in front of Poe, the worry in her eyes clear.

Poe has to suck in a breath, unused to such a blatant display of emotion in Leia’s eyes. For she’s always caring, always worried but normally those emotions are carefully tucked away under the cloak of general Organa.

But this is not her.

This is not general Organa, it is instead Leia herself with her hair down in a loose braid, the weight of the world on her shoulders and the fear of losing yet another person ― after Ben, after Han, after Luke ― a torment in her eyes.

A realization dawns onto Poe that she’ll do anything she can to stop him from leaving. He’s not sure how he feels about that.

“I asked him to keep an eye out after others came to me, worried about you. Worried about you not coping,” she sighs and something akin to shame and regret falls over her face for a moment as she murmurs: “something I have refused to see for too long.”

The soft, almost vulnerable words nearly break Poe’s heart. For this is not the Leia he knows, not the Leia he _wants_ to see and it’s all his fault.

He supposes one last thing to throw onto his pile of guilt won’t matter.

“But you see it now,” he says and takes a deep breath. “You must realize, too, that it’s better for everyone if I leave.”

A fire seems to flash in Leia’s eyes, and in the blink of an eye she’s back to the person Poe knows with a steady, certain tone that screams logic and begs to not be denied. “And you will do what? Hitch a ride on a freight charger from the shuttle bay on the other side of the planet? It’s a week’s walk, if you’re lucky and who is to say you won’t be spotted by anyone in favor of the First Order? Stormtroopers even? You leaving this base will put the entire base at risk.”

Poe shakes his head, hearing her words ― her logic ― but refusing to accept it. “Me staying here will also put the entire base at risk,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

“I know you sometimes care little for them, but I can make you staying here into a direct order,” Leia says with a pointed look.

Poe bristles, anger simmering underneath the surface at the words and he drops the bag to the ground, ready to defend himself.

Then, however, Leia’s expression softens, becomes less stern and more understanding as the fire seems to dim some. “Unless you can provide me with a good reason not to have to order you.”

It seems to pull the fight right out of Poe and it’s like a bucket full of ice―water has been thrown over him, waking him up in a shock.

Because what _is_ he doing?

Getting angry with Leia, letting that dark feeling boil inside of him.

_Feel the darkness_

He lets out a shuddering breath and brings a hand up to his eyes, tries to tell his mind to _shut up_.

A soft, sad sigh from Leia draws his attention, has him lower his hand and look at her unable to hide his despair and anguish.

Leia looks sad yet determined all at once, the hand she places on Poe’s upper―arm tender and her voice like brittle glass as she says: “it seems that my son torments both of our minds.”

For a moment, there is silence between them.

Just the quiet night sounds of the planet with animals making noises no―one is quite used to yet and the ever―present breeze rustling the leaves of trees four times the size of what a normal one would look like.

For a moment, it’s just Poe standing in front of Leia. Feeling like the understanding in her eyes in that moment is the only thing to keep him from drowning.

Then, the floodgates open.

Poe’s face scrunches up, a frown trying to keep the tears at bay and he clenches his shaking hands into fists at his sides. “After what he did… he was _in_ my mind. Who is to say he hasn’t left a part of himself behind? The choices I made ―”

“The choices you made were made by you and no―one else,” Leia interrupts softly, squeezing her hand softly around his arm in an attempt at comfort. “That darkness, it’s just a nightmare. Nothing is in there except your own mind, trust me.”

Poe knows she means to comfort him, put him at ease but he still can’t help but flinch at the words, drawing a step back and letting Leia’s hand fall away from his arm. “People died,” he mumbles and shakes his head, because if it is not Kylo’s darkness lingering in his mind that made him act the way he did… “My choices _killed_ people. A lot of them. Friends.”

His words feel heavy, even as he speaks them and it seems like they settle on Leia, weighing her down all of a sudden. Her smile tinged with sadness as she says: “that’s the prerogative and burden of a leader.”

A leader.

Poe closes his eyes and shakes his head, wondering out loud: “how is it fair that some of us get to decide over other’s lives?”

How is it fair that _he_ gets to hold other people’s lives in the palm of his hand?

“Oh, _Poe_ ,” Leia sighs, unsteady, and shakes her head. “It’s not. It’s not at all fair but sometimes you have to do what’s right rather than what’s fair.”

Right. Poe wonders about the word. Thinks back to what happened and wonders if there was even anything _right_ about it, in the end. “I blatantly ignored your orders. If I’d listened ―” his voice cracks, faltering and he lowers his eyes to the ground, feeling tears prickle just at the edges.

“Others would have died,” Leia finishes for him. “I calculated the risk looking at those in the Resistance, you did based on future civilian casualties. You made that choice and now you suffer the consequences of it just like I would have, had you made a different call.”

Part of Poe is shocked at the words. At the admission.

Leia suffers too, a part deep within himself whispers. She doubts, she feels guilt, yet she prevails. Stands strong still and makes the choices she does ― she _has_ to ― every day.

Poe is astounded by that strength, taken aback and impressed at the same time.

Finds himself wishing he had some of it, if only an inkling.

“How can you…” he starts, a soft and insecure whisper that he knows wouldn’t have escaped him if it had been anyone other than Leia with him. He swallows and lets the most desperate part of him voice his question, letting it out in the open. “Does it get easier?”

Leia presses her lips together with a soft sigh and her shoulders fall. Hours, days, months of responsibility seems to rest there, on her shoulders, in her expression. In the soft hand she places right between Poe's shoulder blades as she pulls him into her arms. “In a way, I suppose. You learn how to deal with the guilt, how to give it a place instead of letting it consume you. You have to,” she says, and her voice is full of both pride and sadness. "That's what a leader does."

Letting himself be enveloped by Leia’s embrace, her comfort and her stability, Poe admits: “I don’t know if I can.”

“Not alone..” Leia says and leans back from the hug, a gentle smile on her lips and faith in her eyes. “But you are not alone, Poe.”

Poe draws in a shaky breath, raises his eyes to the sky to try and force his tears down.

The sky, which holds a darkness that has wrapped itself around the light of day. The near pitch―black that somehow still makes way for the stars, a sliver of light.

And with Leia’s hands a comfort against his shoulder he thinks that if the stars can still shine in the darkness of the night, than perhaps he can find it within himself to do so as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://thevalesofanduin.tumblr.com/) <3


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